


Raising the Stakes

by underthenorthstar



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Betting, F/M, Flirting, Ivar the Boneless - Freeform, Love, Making Out, References to Sex, Tumblr Prompt, Vikings, axe throwing, ivar getting what he wants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 05:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10507206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underthenorthstar/pseuds/underthenorthstar
Summary: From a prompt on Tumblr- You have just beat Ivar in an axe throwing contest. He lost the bet, what does he have to do now?





	1. Reader's POV

**Author's Note:**

> So I received this prompt from the lovely wheniamaunicorn on Tumblr, and it was requested I post it here! The first chapter is your point of view, and the second is Ivar's. I hope you enjoy!

“Care to raise the stakes?”

You look at the youngest prince, his cocky smile making you regret agreeing to this axe throwing contest. But you will not have him claim victory through forfeit. You do not need him to hold that over you for the rest of the day.

“How so?” You ask, twirling your axe between your fingers.

His smile widens. “If you lose, you must pay the penalty.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What’s the penalty?”

His grin turns wicked. “Whatever I say it will be. After you lose.”

You are sure it will be something stupid, like licking his boots, but the look in his eyes makes you shiver. You have long since accepted you have feelings for Ivar, but that he sees you as nothing more than a childhood friend whom he constantly likes to annoy. But when he looks at you like that, blue eyes burning, you can’t help but let your imagination run away with you.

“And if you lose?” You ask, composing yourself.

He shrugs. “Same thing. You will decide a penalty for me. But you know I never lose.”

He’s right. He does not usually lose. But you have been practicing a great deal lately, so maybe today is finally your day. Also, you love to watch Ivar with a weapon. There is just something so alluring about the way he handles them. The deftness of his hands, the sureness with which he wields the blade….well, if he can handle a woman half as well, you are sure you’d never find another bed to warm again.

“Alright, I accept,” you tell him, trying to sound more confident than you feel. “Let us begin.”

You begin your contest. Ivar goes first, adjusting himself on his stump as he eyes the target. You cannot help but admire his physique as you wait for him to throw. His upper body is pure muscle, toned and taut from years of use. His hands are large and broad, skin callused and rough from weapon use. His face, now twisted in concentration, is a thing of beauty. His legs don’t matter to you. He is handsome, cunning, witty, strong, stubborn….and you are head over heels.

He finally makes his throw, and you do not even look at where it went. You are too busy staring at the way his arm muscles bulge and flex as he lets go of the axe.

“A perfect bullseye,” he says smugly, turning to look at you. “Your turn.”

You shake yourself out of your lovesick reverie and step up. You take a minute to concentrate, pushing all thoughts of the man beside you out of your mind. You lean back, and you throw. It hits the target dead centre.

“Hah!” You laugh, and you can hear Ivar grumble from beside you. “I may win yet, oh mighty prince.”

He just snorts, and makes to take his second throw.

You two continue on, until it is your last throw. It’s very close, you have to make a perfect bullseye to win. If you miss by just a hair, you will have to pay Ivar’s penalty. You close your eyes, and say a quick prayer to the gods before opening them and letting the axe fly.  
It hits true. 

“Yes!” You cry, throwing your hands into the air. You turn to Ivar, who is looking like he does not quite believe what just happened. “I am victorious!”

“I cannot believe this,” he groans, rubbing his face with his hands. “I never lose!”

“Well, Ivar, today you have,” you say, walking towards him. “Now you have to pay up! Hmm, what shall your penalty be?”

Before you can even think, he reaches out and grabs you by your shirt, dragging your body into his. You gasp in surprise as your chest bumps into his. One hand grabs your chin and forces you to look up at him. The other anchors you to him by your waist. You forget to breathe; his face is so close you can see the flecks of silver in his blue eyes. 

“I do not like to lose,” he growls, hand slipping from your chin down to your throat. His fingers flex, strong against the tender flesh. 

“Too bad,” you manage to say, your own hands resting against his chest as your heart beats a fierce tattoo. “I won fair and square. You have to pay.”

He considers you for a moment, fingers squeezing your throat gently. “What is your penalty?” He finally says, and you are surprised to hear a note of breathiness in his voice. 

Before you can even stop yourself, (because his lips are just so close and you just can’t help it, you want to taste them so badly), you whisper “you have to kiss me. Hard.”

He blinks. “What?”

You feel yourself faltering at the confused look on his face. “I mean, no, that is silly, you do not, not unless you want-”  
But you are cut off as his lips descend on yours. 

His mouth is warm and he tastes of ale and something you cannot quite place. He kisses you hungrily, as if he is a starving man and you are what will sustain him. You let out a soft moan, kissing him back with everything you have. This is what you have wanted for so long. To know what this feels like. And it is much better than you ever could have dreamed.  
His hand on your throats tightens, but you find it does not scare you. In fact, you find yourself pressing closer to him. He lets out a choked groan, the hand on your hip leaving to fist itself in your long hair. Your own hands are touching every inch of him you can reach; chest, arms, shoulders, face.

After what feels like an eternity, he pulls back, but not away. He moves to your jaw, leaving wet, open mouthed kisses along the side. 

“Some penalty this is,” he growls against your skin, “when it is all I have ached for since you grew into a woman.”

You suck in a surprised breath. “Really?”  
He bites your earlobe. “Do not be daft, woman. Why do you think I spend so much time with you?”

You struggle to speak as his tongue traces up over your ear. “I thought you just liked to bother me.”

“Hmmm, well you are rather delicious when you are angry,” he hums, tugging on your hair so your throat become exposed. He takes his hand away and replaces it with his mouth. You feel as if you are about to explode. Who knew a simply axe throwing contest would lead to this? 

“Are you as good at handling a woman as you are with an axe?” You ask, whining softly as he scraps his teeth across your pulse point. Your question makes him pull back, and you shiver at the pure confidence and desire radiating from his eyes.

“Wouldn’t you like to find out,” He growls, a hand snaking up under your shirt.

You do find out. Twice.

And you are never going to be able to watch him with an axe ever again.


	2. Ivar's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr Prompt- You just beat Ivar in an axe throwing contest. He lost the bet, what does he have to do now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same prompt, different point of view.

"Care to raise the stakes?"

He gives her a cocky smile, knowing it will help provoke her into agreeing to this. He knows exactly how to push all her buttons. He spends all his time with her, all his time studying her. She is his favourite subject. 

"How so?" She asks, twirling her axe between her fingers. He smiles wider. 

"If you lose, you must pay the penalty," he says. 

She raises one eyebrow at him. "What's the penalty?"

He gives her his most wicked look. "Whatever I say it will be. After you lose."

He has many ideas. They all involve him finally getting what he wants: her tender flesh under his hands and his name spilling from her pretty red lips. 

"And if you lose?" She asks.

He shrugs. “Same thing. You will decide a penalty for me. But you know I never lose.”

He can see the cogs turning in her head. She knows he is a very good shot. They have trained together since they were children and he has always been able to best her. Still, he knows her better than he knows himself. She is competitive, and he is positive she will not back down. She doesn't back down from anything. It's one of the things that attracts him to her.

"Alright, I accept," she says, and he feels a pulse of victory inside him. "Let us begin."

He goes first, as he always does. He situates himself on his stump, getting his shot lined up. He can feel her eyes on him. It makes an involuntary shiver skitter across his skin. Those doe-like eyes, how he wants them to stare at him with desire and need. He can feel a red stain creeping up the back of his neck. He mentally berates himself for getting distracted and lines up his shot. A few deep breaths, then he throws. It hits the centre of the target.

He cannot help but feel smug. "A perfect bullseye." He turns to look at her. "Your turn."

He watches her as she prepares. She is almost goddess like in his eyes, so tempting and alluring. He has wanted her since she grew out of being a child and became a woman. She can drink, she can fight, she takes his shit and gives it right back. And she is so, so beautiful. He must have her. He feels like he will die if he doesn't.

She makes her throw, and of course it hits the middle. She will not let him win easily. He expected nothing less.

But he still grumbles. 

"Hah!" She laughs, and he cannot help his heart faltering at the sound. "I may win yet, oh mighty prince."

He just snorts at her confidence, and they continue on.

He's doing well, but not as well as usual. He's distracted. Every time she makes a throw he thinks of what he will ask of her if she loses, and he loses his grip on his concentration. He can almost taste her sweet lips, can almost feel the warmth of her body underneath his and it is driving him mad.

Still, he makes it to the final throw only a tiny pace behind. She needs to make a perfect shot to win. He feels confident he has this, and the excitement swells within him. 

She steps up for her final throw......and hits the target dead on. He cannot believe it. His heart sinks into his boots. 

"Yes!" She cries, throwing her hands into the air. "I am victorious!"

His chance is lost. He feels an overwhelming frustration creep into his bones. "I cannot believe this," he groans, rubbing his face in his hands. "I never lose!"

“Well, Ivar, today you have,” she says, walking towards him. “Now you have to pay up! Hmm, what shall your penalty be?”

He cannot have this. His frustration reaches a boiling point, and on pure instinct he reaches out and grabs her by her shirt and pulls her towards him. She lets out a gasp of surprise as they collide. He grasps her hip in one hand, the other takes hold of her chin and holds her face up. Big eyes stare back into his, confusion written in them. He can see every tiny mark on her skin, could count every eyelash, he is that close. He thinks of what he has let slip through his fingers and he nearly shakes in rage.

"I do not like to lose,” he growls at her, his hand slipping from her chin and sliding down to her throat. His fingers flex, revelling in the feel of the creamy flesh underneath them.

“Too bad," she says, and her weapon-worn hands come to rest on his chest. "I won fair and square. You have to pay.”

He cannot help but squeeze her throat gently, momentarily transfixed by the way his hand looks there. "What is your penalty?” He finally says, voice odd and somewhat raspy. It's her closeness. It makes him crazy, her warmth and scent so close but still out of reach.

She looks up at him from under thick lashes. “You have to kiss me," she whispers. "Hard."

He blinks. Did she just say she wants him to kiss her? Is he getting so delusional over her that he is imagining things now? What he has wanted but has always been too afraid to ask for, did she really just propose it?

"What?" He asks, confused.

Her face falls, her brows drawing together in an almost forlorn expression. She begins to babble. “I mean, no, that is silly, you do not, not unless you want-”

He can't hold it in any longer. Of course he wants. He always wants. And maybe, this means she wants it just as badly. He leans in and cuts her off by pressing his lips to hers. 

She tastes divine. Her lips are soft and sweet and he thinks he's an idiot for waiting this long to claim them. He devours her with a ferocious hunger, like a man denied a meal for far too long. It's too much and too little all at once.

And she kisses him back. She moans softy into his mouth and works her lips against his like she is just as hungry for him as he is for her. Her hands are running all over him and he feels a heat spreading over his body. Instinctively, the hand on her throat tightens. She presses herself closer to him, the kiss they are sharing deepening at his actions. Surprise runs through him.

She likes it. She likes his hand squeezing her throat. He groans in desperate pleasure at the realization. What else will she let him do to her, the wicked little vixen? Will she let him put his silver blade to her skin? Will she let him bind her wrists with rope? He reaches up and grabs her hair in his excitement. Again, she does not shy away, and he could cry with the delight of it. 

He tears his mouth from hers and moves to the skin of her jaw, leaving sucking kisses as he explores.

"Some penalty this is,” he growls, needing her to know his intents, "when it is all I have ached for since you grew into a woman.”

She sucks an breath. "Really?” She sounds surprised. It makes him want to roll his eyes. Instead, he gives her earlobe a sharp nip.

“Do not be daft, woman," he says. "Why do you think I spend so much time with you?” He traces his tongue up over her ear and is rewarded with a deep shudder. 

"I thought you just liked to bother me.” She replies, voice unsteady.

“Hmmm, well you are rather delicious when you are angry,” he hums, tugging her hair so he can expose the lovely expanse of her throat. He moves his hand so he can explore the tempting new area with his mouth. Her skin is so warm and soft, he wants to sink his teeth into every inch he can reach. He starts by raking his teeth across her skittering pulse.

“Are you as good at handling a woman as you are with an axe?” Her voice is whiny, and it nearly breaks him. He pulls back to examine her. She looks utterly delicious, cheeks flushed red, pupils dilated and lips kiss-stung. She's looking at him like she cannot wait for him to pounce. He knows for certain now, this is not and has never been one sided. He lets his desire for her show all over his face. She shivers under his gaze, and he thrills at the thought of what he is about to finally, finally do.

“Wouldn’t you like to find out,” He growls, inching a hand up under her shirt. 

He knows he's just as good with a woman as he is with a weapon. Judging by her dazed and satisfied expression when he's finished with her, she now knows it too.

And he's pretty sure his bed is going to be quite nice and warm for many, many nights to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on Tumblr! And join in the Ivar madness :)

**Author's Note:**

> I have a huge thing for Ivar and axes and I cannot lie.


End file.
